Determinism, Destiny And Free-Will
by gr8rockstarrox
Summary: "Uh, hello. Do you know anything about snakes, or in particular, basilisks?" she asks. He stares at her, this green-eyed, black-haired nymph, as she looks up at him from her book. Stupidly, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. "I'm a Parselmouth." [Soulmarks AU, Fem!Harry, TMR/fem!Harry]
**Summary:** "Uh, hello. Do you know anything about snakes, or in particular, basilisks?" she asks. He stares at her, this green-eyed, black-haired nymph, as she looks up at him from her book. Stupidly, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. "I'm a Parselmouth." [Soulmarks AU, Fem!Harry]

 **Pairings:** TMR/fem!HP and JP/fem!Sirius

 **Warnings:** Fem!Harry and fem!Sirius. Also, this is unbeta-ed.

* * *

 _DETERMINISM, DESTINY AND FREE-WILL_

* * *

 _ **"He that is born to be hanged shall never be drowned."**_

~ William Shakespeare ~

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

He sits in the library, scribbling away in his diary. His OWLs have just gotten over, and he is working out the final elements of his Master Plan. Some day, he will be something more than just Tom Marvolo Riddle, a Halfblood orphan. He will be powerful and invincible. He will be a worthy heir of Slytherin.

Horcruxes. He has decided that that is the way he will attain immortality. His first horcrux will be his beloved diary, the closest thing he has to a confidant. He drops his quill and closes the book, to study its black cover.

Absently, the fingers of his right hand trace the words written on his left inner upper arm. It's a common habit of his, to do so, when he thinks of his plans. He seeks immortality only because he isn't sure if she will be born in his lifetime. There have been cases of soulmates being born decades apart. He wants to be young when he meets her.

His fingers stop at one particular word, 'basilisk'. He wonders who his soulmate could be. He certainly hopes it isn't any of the females of his Year. They're all so vapid and self-absorbed. He wants a powerful partner, one who will be his equal in every right.

It's thanks to _her_ , and the words that she _will_ speak, that he even found out about his Slytherin heritage. He hasn't met her yet, but she has already done so much for him. His happiest memory so far, apart from finding out about Hogwarts, is of him learning that he is the Heir of Slytherin.

His plans for the summer include finding out about the Gaunts. The Gaunts seem to be the last of the Slytherin bloodline, and Tom shares his name with that of the head of the House of Gaunt. _Marvolo_. It's unfortunate that the man is in Azkaban, though. He will have to settle for talking to Marvolo's son, Morphin.

But first, he has to figure out how he can make his diary a horcrux. The texts he has been pursuing whenever he could take a break from his OWL studies all say the same thing. That he has to do something that will split his soul.

The closest thing he can think of is his soulmark.

What he is about to do is the most abominable thing he can think of. It makes him feel queasy, just thinking about it. But he has to do this, so that he can be protected when he goes about carrying out his plans. He is sealing his immortality.

He clears up the books in front of him and puts them in clean stacks on the nearby chairs. His diary he leaves on the centre of the table, open. The pages are all blank, thanks to the special ink he has brewed all by himself. It helps that he is Slughorn's favourite student; he gets to use the Professor's private labs.

He takes out a silver knife he'd nicked from the kitchens earlier last week and rolls his sleeve further up. He traces his soulmark with his right index finger one last time, before he starts tracing the words with the edge of the knife.

It's the most excruciating pain he has ever felt. Is this how the Cruciatus Curse feels? He lets the blood that flows freely drip onto the centre of the open book, watching as each drop gets sucked in greedily.

It's almost fascinating, the way the blood gets soaked in. The muted pitter-patter of his own blood seems soothing at first, but it isn't really. His soulmark is now glowing, as his arm burns more and more. He can hear screams of slain unicorns and wringed phoenixes. It's his own soul screaming, begging him not to do this.

It's wrong. It feels wrong, like going against the very grain of fate and time.

But he perseveres. It's all for that girl who'll be his someday. He's doing it for her. He'll even kill for her, if it ever comes to that.

It's somewhere in the middle of those thoughts that he realises the room is brightening quickly, like the insides of the sun.

And then he falls, face first, towards his open diary. He loses consciousness before his nose can hit the surface.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

Tom isn't really alive, but he isn't dead either. He's in a state of suspended animation, almost. He can sense things. He can observe the auras of people who come close enough to him, but not many people come by, that often.

As far as he can tell, someone - an older man - has taken him and placed him here, on a shelf, saying that this is the best place for him, as it's the section about snakes and other reptiles. He thinks that the older man must be Professor Dumbledore, but Tom can't tell anything for sure. There is no flare of hatred at the thought of the older wizard touching his diary; there's no judgement here.

He's in limbo and all he can do is wait.

So he waits, not thinking, but assimilating and observing.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

In this timeless purgatory, he comes close to rising once. He doesn't know when it is, but his magic senses a witch with curly hair and bright blue-green eyes peering at him, as she laughs.

He's almost conscious once again.

"No, James, I don't think there's anything about Animagi here. It's all snakes! But for this book; it's all blank."

She stretches out a hand to pick it - no _him_ \- up, but the wizard knocks her hand away.

"We'll try that side of the Restricted Section. And hurry, we don't need Filch catching us, Ursa."

The two of them go away, and Tom sighs.

So close, yet so far.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

His cocoon of solitude is disturbed once again a while later. It could be days, weeks, months or years since the first disturbance; he has no way of knowing.

It's punishment for what he tried to do.

But he can't judge himself, can't hate himself.

He's only capable of watching, listening, learning, and remaining dormant.

His attention perks up when he recognises the familiar magical cores. They're much more mature now. He guesses that the witch and the wizard standing in front of him must be much older now. Judging by their heights, they seem to be adults.

"But James, Mother wants me to marry someone soon. I know I ran away and your parents were kind enough to take me in, but Mother can still set up a marriage contract. She says I've waited long enough to meet my soulmate."

"Ursa -"

"Look at me," she laughs shakily, "I'm all flustered like another of those Pureblood chits. Now come, help me find some ritual to ensure Mother can't override my wishes."

"No," the wizard protests.

"What do you mean, _no?_ Don't you understand - "

"Marry me, Ursa," the wizard implores, moving closer to the witch.

Tom feels like he's intruding on a private moment. But there's something about what's going to happen that he knows will change his future.

The witch starts crying freely, and Tom's magic wants to lean out and soothe her. But there's something in the recess of his metaphorical mind that tells him not to. She isn't _his._

"And not give you a chance to marry your own soulmate when you meet her, James? I could never ask that of you. I love you too much for that," she says, her voice cracking.

"Don't tell me you never wished that I was your soulmate. I remember how when we first met, you thought it was me," the wizard says, looking away. Tom can sense his guilt.

"But I was wrong, remember? Because you didn't have my words on your arm. Or neck. Or anywhere else, really. And the way you pursued Lily, I thought she - "

"I lied, Ursa," he says, his voice breaking.

Tom senses a shift in the witch's magical core. Her magic is lashing out, towards the wizard.

"Wha- what do you mean?"

"My soulmark is _'You're a lot nicer than my family elf.'_ In your handwriting, that too."

The witch recoils, as if physically slapped.

"And why didn't you tell me? Ever?" she asks, quietly.

"Because I wanted you to love me for who I am. Not because of what some writing on your hand and writing on my chest says."

"But how is that fair? Maybe I wanted to be loved for who I am as well?" she says, holding her head back stubbornly, refusing to wipe the tears pouring down her face.

"You needn't have worried. I fell in love the minute I looked into your eyes. And that was even before we spoke."

In an unpredictable move, the witch launches herself onto the wizard.

"Do you have any idea how many nights I spent not sleeping because I felt like I was cheating on my soulmate for wishing he'd be you? Do you know how painful it was, watching you pursue Evans, fooling me into believing she was yours? Do you -"

The wizard leans down - though there's not much of a height difference - and kisses her.

Their magic combines, and Tom feels like he can breathe again. He feels like he's been under water all along, and that he can finally pull his head out.

"I love you, Ursa Black. So will you please marry me?" the wizard asks, his magic already singing.

"I'm still angry with you. And I haven't forgiven you yet. But yes, I'll marry you," the witch says, a pouty smile playing on her face, though her voice is dead serious.

The wizard bends and picks her up, and she shrieks with laughter, just as a voice yells in the background, "Head Boy Potter! Head Girl Black! What are you doing in the restricted section?"

"You have a lot to make up for, Jamesie," coos the witch.

The ebullient way in which their magic dances around them seems to unlock something in Tom. He feels his consciousness becoming humane, to some extent.

Would his soulmate be that happy to meet him, if he ever gets out of this cage of paper and leather?

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

Things are different now, but Tom doesn't know if it's for the better or for the worse. He can sense the passage of time now; he can sense days and nights.

His consciousness seems to have developed a conscience now, and it judges him so much. It judges him for what he's done. It judges him, criticises him and makes him hate himself.

If he thought having no sense of time was purgatory, he was wrong. Because _this_ is.

Sometimes, it feels like someone is calling out to him, providing him a reprieve from his personal hell, but he can never be too sure.

His first reprieve comes five thousand, two hundred and sixty-five sunrises after what he has termed his _'Awakening'._

It's a shriek of laughter followed by someone chastising the person with that choral laugh.

"Hush, Harriet! Not so loud, especially next to the Restricted Section! Madam Pince will throw us out!"

"Mione's right, let's go down to the Halloween Feast. I'm starving."

The voices fade away, and though Tom waits for the person with that choral laugh to speak, she never does.

So Tom settles back into his purgatory.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

The second reprieve comes after just three hundred and seventy-three sunrises.

This time, he doesn't hear her, but he feels her magic. It's a combination of that Ursa's magic and that James' magic - the witch and the wizard who unwittingly awoke him. On the other hand, it's not the same as theirs either; it's something entirely too unique.

"And why would three Second Years like you want to use the restricted section?"

"It's for an extra-credit History of Magic project. And we have a letter of permission from Professor Lockhart, since he's the one who assigned us the task of finding about the founders' creatures. Here," comes the voice of the girl whom he'd heard the last time as well.

"You may go... Ms Potter, Mr Weasley, are you eating chocolate in my library? Get out! Get out!"

"Merlin, fine, we'll go. 'Mione, do the research, will you? We'll be in the common room," comes the male voice he heard last time, though the voice has broken. Ah, puberty.

The girl named Ms Potter, and the redheaded boy go away, and Tom feels the abyss of his purgatory pulling him in again. He doesn't get a chance to see this elusive Ms Potter. And he sinks back in, almost disappointed.

He feels that purgatory gets worse after every reprieve, because it reminds him of the freedom he can't taste, only smell.

It's punishment enough.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

His next reprieve doesn't come for another eight hundred and thirty-eight sunsets.

Much like the first time he encountered that Ursa and that James, _she_ slips in under the cover of darkness, her wand held aloft. Her magic is in sore need of being paid attention to, and Tom reaches out to comfort her.

She sits down on the floor somewhere next to the rack where he's been kept, almost as if there's something that's keeping her there. In the light of her wand, she takes out some large volumes from the shelves next to her and starts perusing them.

He sees that she has ink black hair, much like a raven's wings.

But that's all he can see.

And though Tom doesn't have a physical form, he knows that he wants to run his hands through her hair. He wants to soothe her and hold her, the way he'd have liked someone to hold him back when he lived in the orphanage.

She falls asleep eventually, probably lulled by the magic he's pouring into her core, trying to fill the holes she's formed by her worrying and her anxiety. And for once, Tom comes close to experiencing something close to sleep, an almost break from being conscious all the time.

"She's here, James!" calls out a voice, shaking Tom of his contemplative meditative state.

"Harry sweetheart, wake up, love," says a much older James, passing by Tom's shelf as he bends down to crouch next to Harriet. There are lines on his face and crinkles next to his eyes.

There's a groan from _her_ but she doesn't say anything.

James lifts the girl, and if Tom had teeth, he knows he would gnash it. Because he can only see the back of her head. He can't see her face. And it's frustrating to be so, _so_ close and yet be out of reach of something he desperately wants.

The visage of a much older Ursa Black flutters into his view, as she strokes Harriet's hair just the way he had wished to do a few hours back.

"Wake up, pet. Mummy's found the solution, wake up now," she says gently, as the family of three make their way away from the section where he is.

"She takes after her mother, sleeping through trumpets of elephants," laughs James, before their voices fade away.

It's with surprise that he notes that he's genuinely happy for Ursa and James; they got their happy-ever-after.

This time when he's pulled back into purgatory, it doesn't hurt anymore. He feels he has repented for his sins.

He feels redeemed, almost as if he has finally forgiven himself.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

His bid for freedom comes four hundred and sixty-two sunrises later.

Tom feels _her_ step somewhere close to him, and his consciousness starts singing. He can almost break the bonds of his hell, because she's standing so close to him, her magic seeking him out. Or at least, that's what he tells himself.

He uses his magic to call out to hers, to beg her to take him away. To pick him up, to at least come into his range of vision so that he can finally see her.

A pale arm with long knobby fingers and well manicured nails comes into his view, reaching out for him.

He feels her pick up his diary, and all of a sudden, it's heaven raining down upon earth.

He can hear the cries of newborn unicorns and the cries of reborn phoenixes.

All his senses intensify to such an unimaginable extent, and it's the most beautiful thing he has ever felt. His limbo in purgatory seems to have been worth the wait, if this is what he gets to experience. His horizons of wisdom expand exponentially, and he can see the truths of the universe.

It's holy, it's divine. It's the purest thing that has ever happened to him.

He feels it cleanse his soul and fix it together again.

And then the world goes black.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

Tom opens his eyes to see that he's sitting opposite a raven-haired girl in the Hogwarts library. It's the same table where he tried out his ritual.

She's looking at him with a single eyebrow quirked upwards, slight surprise on her face, though she looks like not much can faze her.

He breathes in air, air he hasn't breathed in a while, and watches her facial expressions change. She's the most beautiful creature he has seen.

Her eyes are blue-green, just like Ursa Black's, though her jawline suggests that she's James' progeny. But as he stares at her some more, he realises her eyes are greener that Ursa's.

She looks down at the book she's reading, flipping a page, almost awkwardly. Her gaze is focussed on the page.

"Uh, hello. Do you know anything about snakes, or in particular, basilisks?" she asks, her voice not shaking even slightly, for all the awkwardness etched on her face.

He stares at her, this green-eyed, black-haired nymph, as she looks up at him from her book at long last, her eyes questioning.

Stupidly, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. "I'm a Parselmouth."

Her lips curve into a smile.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear that."

Tom knows he's hooked.

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

It's a sunny afternoon in March, and Tom is now pursuing his Sixth Year at Hogwarts. He's sitting with his soulmate, on the shores of the Black Lake, under a nice shady tree.

He's playing with her hair, a habit that he just can't seem to break out of.

"Did I tell you that the Black Lake was named after my ancestor?" she asks, resting her head on his shoulder. It feels so right to have her by his side.

"Yes. Yes, you have, love," he says, smiling indulgently at her as she raises her head to look into his eyes.

"Hmm," she says, before dropping her head onto his shoulder once again. "I think I've run out of stories to tell you. And I think you have too."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," he says, watching the Giant Squid put its tentacles out and scare Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.

She pulls away this time, and turns to look at him, a puzzled look on her face.

"What do you mean?"

"May be it's time for us to write our own stories," he says, and she smiles ever so beatifically at him.

"You always know how to make me feel better, Tom," she says, taking his right hand in her left, intertwining their fingers together.

He leans over and kisses her on her forehead, where she has a faint, silvery, lightning-shaped scar. It's from a childhood Quidditch accident, and though she despises it deeply, Tom thinks it only makes her more beautiful.

But then, he's probably a biased judge.

"Do you think everything happens for a reason?" she asks him quietly.

Her many shades is another thing he loves about her. She can be the gentlest of breezes and the wildest of tempests. She isn't one single colour, she's a myriad of vibrant, as well as sombre, hues. She's as quiet as the centre of the cosmos and as loud as the organised cacophony of an orchestra.

And she's the only one who can make him wax lyrical.

He isn't _that_ much of a poet, really.

"I never used to believe in fate. Or destiny. But life's taught me that there's something beyond our control that guides us along, makes us pay our dues. And it's left me exactly where I'm supposed to be."

She hums in agreement and closes her eyes, dropping her head onto his lap, so that he can view her face as she breathes in and out, shallowly.

Tom decides that now might as well be a good time to tell her what he'll eventually have to tell her.

"There's one story I haven't told you yet," he says, and she opens her brilliant eyes to quirk one eyebrow at him, reminiscent of the first time he met her.

"Remember how on my seventeenth birthday a solicitor, Robbards, requested to speak with me? Apparently when I got myself trapped in my diary, Dumbledore finally decided to trace my heritage and found out I was Marvolo Gaunt's grandson. When Marvolo found out that he'd lost a grandson with such great academic potential, he decided to sue the school," he says, scoffing at the last part.

"The Ministry paid him a substantial amount, and then employed him to use his Parselmagic abilities to work on indestructible wards. And Marvolo put all that into Gringotts account, in the hope that I could be freed someday; so that I could continue the Gaunt line, even if I was only a filthy Halfblood."

At this, his voice turns slightly bitter, and Harriet raises her hand to caress his cheek. Comforted, he continues.

"On his deathbed, when he realised that he'd never get to see me alive, he wrote a Will naming me successor, but added clauses to the witnesses verbally, in Parseltongue. Robbards finally managed to get permission for me to view the memory, seeing as there is no other Parselmouth alive. That's why I disappeared, yesterday. I was asked to translate it under Veritaserum."

At this, Harriet scowls. "Veritaserum can't be administered just like that. There has to be an official Healer on hand, and a Potions Master. You can sue them."

Tom holds back a grin at how worried she is. It feels so lovely to have someone worry about him, not that he'd ever want to be the cause of Harriet's worries.

"It was all official, love. Anyway, that Pureblood supremacist laid down a few conditions to my inheritance. And the one that actually concerns me is that he wants me to revive the Gaunt line. Which means any and all kids I have should be Gaunts."

She bites her lower lip in her usual innocent fashion, though it makes him want to bend down and do not-so-innocent things to her mouth.

"But I'm the Potter Heir. We'll have to continue my name as well."

"Which is why I was thinking. If we ever have children, we should give them hyphenated surnames?"

"Gaunt-Potter... No, Potter-Gaunt sounds much better," she says, smiling slightly.

"His second condition is that we name our firstborn son after him," Tom says, smiling wryly at how she furrows her eyebrows.

"Maybe the middle name. I like Sirius Marvolo. How about you?"

"You want to revive the naming-after-a- star tradition?" he asks her, surprised. He thought she and her mother hated all things Black.

"But it's a nice tradition, don't you think? Harriet is such an ordinary name. Being named Hydra or something equally unique would have been so much cooler," she says, looking into his eyes defiantly.

"We're never naming any daughter of ours Hydra. That was a monster in Greek mythology."

"So? Anyway, there are nicer star names which we can pick on. And your grumpy grandfather can get a middle name," she huffs.

Tom chuckles, because being with her equals being high for him. He doesn't need alcohol or drugs when she's around. When she's around, he's high on life.

"But all that's a long way to go. I haven't even asked you to marry me yet," he says, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"Like I don't know that you're going to ask me when I turn seventeen this July."

"But we have so much more to do. Sixth Year finals. And then NEWTS... Marriage and children can wait, you know?" he says. After a moment, he smiles and adds, "This isn't the 1940's."

She threads her fingers through his once more.

"You're right. We have our own stories to create before we start writing others'."

A leaf falls down, brushing his face.

Harriet Potter smiles up at him, her teeth gleaming in the sunlight.

"And Tom? I'm so glad you made it to the 90's."

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

 _ **"A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."**_

~ Jean de La Fontaine ~

* * *

 **~oOo~**

* * *

 **End Notes:**

Yes, Gilderoy Lockhart is the History of Magic teacher, here.

For the Math buffs out there, here are the dates of the various events. I calculated the number of sunrises and sunsets manually, though I'm sure there's an app for it or something on the net.

May 31st, 1978 \- James proposes to Ursa; Tom awakens.

October 31st, 1991 \- Tom's first reprieve; Halloween during Harriet's First Year

November 7th, 1992 \- Tom's second reprieve; The Trio upto some mischief during Harriet's Second Year

February 23rd, 1995 \- Tom's third reprieve; The night before the Second task of The Triwizard Tournament which Harriet, being the daughter of two Marauders, managed to get her name into

May 31st, 1996 \- Harriet frees Tom accidentally while searching for books on Parselmouths and Slytherin's creature.

* * *

 **AN:**

I hope you liked it. Reviews are love. :)


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